"enth" poems
A bee whistles past his ear
He feels the sound . . he doesn’t care
Averts his eyes in case there’s others
Raises his hands to fix his hair
Divorced from reality somewhat: from feeling.
Or at least extremes of:
Never exceeding amounts unfeasible:
Pertaining to the limits thereof:
Plateaued at governable levels in present:
Exempt from enth
Kept in check
His whistle wet & he’s well fed
Real words strewn along the ground
Discarded leaves fallen
Left decaying: mostly forgotten
His pants look to him pantaloons
For the good they do representing him
the man chases an end necessary; resenting
not waning, he feigns stoicism
then his creeping cynicism clouds his eyes
‘u know what buddy, u can honestly get ****** he says ‘the 1st world cries the loudest; but is softest. Thinks it is toughest; it is weakest, smoothest, creamiest.’
‘u know what buddy u are honestly right’ he says to himself not wanting to admit to himself that he agrees with himself,
but despite this all, his gaze’s focus still lowers
the edges become softer
& he does what he does
he wraps up in his blanky
with his bottle; safe under cover
among some big ******* to feel warm
but the swarm of bees they circle
twitching fever; rippling waves
hope to god that they don’t sting you
as u hide & feel their sway
lapping closer swooping hawk like
collective wind; they rearrange
and then
they push left !swoop! they raise u up,
( a cloud of black and brown and yellow arches and hums, hums like a razor on steroids, seeping potent purpose, pushing, coming: close your eyes for impending hell)
leaving bumps that swell and burn, they grab, they encase, they consume, they drive, they raise and they push
and they deliver u
and u obey them
and u relinquish; u fold enslaved
they push u forward !the buzz! it wakes
it makes u groan,
u can’t ignore it
u know u need it
u’ve got to do it
u need to go
toil on & reap the spoils
another set with the walking beige
go here go there: be happy
u have no reason to not this day
just keep on going, mate my mate
lulling deep into the beige
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
Eccentricity Isn’t Craziness, It’s Daring
Eccentricity isn ‘t craziness, it’s daring
To the -enth degree:
A caring not what they decree,
Not caring what they think of me.
The unconventional disarming,
Often charming -
What is normal?
Living life like all the rest,
I guess accepting colorlessness.
Planets are eccentric
And the sun’s just doing fine.
It shines on planetary quirks,
Sustains the quirk so that it works.
So,
We too can be a sun;
No planet going round,
No moon, but one
Unusual, bright son-of-a gun
Who does his ‘thing’ because it is
The only thing that makes things run,
The only thing that makes life fun
The misfit may not be a genius,
May be middling or bizarre.
Having said that, I give honor
To the one who does his thing
Since he sees through
The illusion, the delusion, the chimère .
Eccentricity Isn’t Craziness…9.3.2015 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; revised/ 9.30.2018 Arlene Nover Corwin
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
Large figures chasing you with soft noises,
for voices,
long fingers reaching as your short legs,
and little feet run and your laughter begs,
for more.
The heart pounds
as you run laughing.
Growling faces chase each other in this place,
of sport where points count and effort on your face,
on each combatants face, explain the pain of the pace,
all for a ball without mercy or grace, to give up
a disgrace.
The heart pounds
as you run to do battle.
You see that person for the first time, or the tenth time,
you
hope, you will see them over and over for the enth time,
your eyes meet and
you
fall harmlessly into the
drumming sound, that suddenly got louder in your chest.
The heart pounds
as you.. .. race toward.. .. each other.
A small cry, tears to your eyes
more to life than meets the eye,
more pairs of hands and feet,
your family is complete.
The hearts pound
as you two live out creation.
And dreams.
Alone, with walls chalk white and no feeling,
watch sticky flies move and paint peeling,
the only visitors are lost in the colour of the walls,
you
hear voices so familiar, distant echoes down halls.
Then they are gone, all is unwelcome and strange again.
The heart pounds
irregular growing weaker,
like your resolve.
Still, the heart pounds, catching on every
hope,
you ever had.
©ClemC082013
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
no closing the eyes
no looking to the left and right
no more no territory
yes it's clear
yes to no fear
yes to eating steer
no to the enth degree
no to uncivil society
no to not being a you and me
yes to no monopoly
yes to no decree
yes to no tom-foolery
Nov 22, 2021
Nov 22, 2021 at 8:44 AM UTC